


Silent Water

by bellatemple



Series: But Deadly [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Dean Winchester, Muteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-20
Updated: 2008-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two little boys who don't speak, and how they find ways to communicate, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Water

**Author's Note:**

> This sucker has a slightly different structure than the previous two. I hope you enjoy.

"So, Lucas. What do you think Granddad would like for lunch?"

Andrea looked up from the sink where she was washing dishes and turned her head towards her son, who sat at the kitchen table, hoping he'd answer. Hoping this time he'd at least look up, acknowledge that she was speaking to him even if he didn't make eye contact, but Lucas just sat there, scribbling a wide black spiral on a piece of yellow construction paper, like there was nothing else in the world.

She'd expected it, had even started, just barely, to get used to it, but she couldn't help feel like her heart was breaking a little, every time her little boy ignored her.

She wished Chris was still here. He and Lucas had always been close -- she remembered thinking how lucky she was, that her husband was so interested in everything their son did, even when it wasn't what Chris himself might pick to do. Lucky. Right. Except now Chris was gone and Lucas was -- he was there, but he was gone, too. He'd left her just as much as Chris had on that lake.

She let out a soft sigh, quiet enough that she didn't think Lucas would hear, even if he were listening, and looked forward again, out the window, through the trees to where she could just make out the flash of the sunlight on the water of the lake, then jerked her eyes back down to the sink again and watched the suds shrink into the drain. Once she thought she could do it without her voice breaking, she spoke again, plastering a firm smile across her face. "Maybe baloney? Come on over here, you can help me make some sandwiches."

He still didn't look up, so she brought the bread and the meat and the mayo to him, setting them out on the table near his stack of paper, as though he'd agreed to help.

Just in case. Who knew? Maybe this time it would work. Maybe this time, Lucas would come back to her.

* * *

 _"So, Sam. What do you think Dean would like for lunch?"_

 _Carrie looked down at the four year old who was pushing a toy fire truck around and around their tiny kitchen. He stopped making his puttering noises and looked up at her._

 _"Peanut butter."_

 _"Just peanut butter?"_

 _"And banana." Sam turned back to his firetruck and Carrie laughed softly. Peanut butter and banana was Sam's favorite._

 _"You sure about that?"_

 _"Uh huh?"_

 _"How do you know?"_

 _"He told me."_

 _She bit back a sigh. Dean hadn't told anyone anything in four years. Even using the sign language his therapist had finally taught him, he only ever answered questions. Except to Sam._

 _"If I asked Dean when he got home what he wanted for lunch, is that what he'd say?"_

 _Sam nodded. "Uh huh."_

 _"Are you sure?"_

 _Sam frowned. "I like peanut butter and banana."_

 _"But is it what_ Dean _likes?"_

 _"Dean likes what I like."_

 _And Carrie didn't argue. Because that, as far as she could tell, was the truth._

 _"Well, alright then. Peanut butter and banana it is."_

* * *

They didn't look like any Fish and Wildlife officials she'd ever seen, but she supposed that must be because they were out of uniform. Either way, they were handsome.

She bit her lip as soon as the thought crossed her mind. She knew that Chris wouldn't want her to be alone, would want her to be happy, but even thinking about anyone else felt like a betrayal, somehow. There were days when she wanted to hate him, for leaving her alone, for making her have to second guess her thoughts this way, but those thoughts hurt almost as much as thinking about other men did.

She wasn't ready, yet. She hadn't been ready to lose him, either. Hadn't been ready to lose any of it.

And this was why she'd moved in with Dad. Because she couldn't always stay focused. Her thoughts had a tendency to wander to places that made her chest ache and her throat go tight. But she had Lucas, what little was left of him, and she had to hold herself up and be strong for him. So she let her dad hold her up, lend her his strength, and pretended it was enough.

And anyway, Lucas was pressing against her leg, and the tall one was finishing up with her father, and the shorter one was looking down at Lucas, a small smile on his lips, and waving. She gave him a brief look, feeling her own brow furrow, and tugged Lucas a little bit closer to her hip. "This is Lucas."

The shorter one crouched down a bit to get closer to Lucas's level, and she couldn't help a wince. Chris had done that sort of thing, all the time, and Lucas had always brightened right up. Now, he turned his face slightly into her skirt, and she moved slightly in front of him, protectively. The man wrinkled his nose, but nodded and straightened back up, catching the taller man in the ribs with an elbow.

The tall man was still speaking to her father -- about Lucas, the same sort of sympathetic, empty questions that everyone who didn't know them had, if he was "okay", what had happened to him, why he wasn't a normal child, and her father answered the way he always did. Lucas had been through a lot. They all had.

Understatement of the year.

But the tall man turned around at the elbow, shooting a dark look at his partner, who ignored him, looked Andrea in the eye, and started moving his hands.

Her eyes widened slightly. Yeah, these guys definitely weren't like any Fish and Wildlife officials she'd ever seen.

"Do you know of a reasonably priced hotel?" The tall man asked, his voice flat, almost bored, his eyes glued to the other man's hands. Not partner, then. Interpreter. Andrea let out a soft breath and nodded.

"Lakefront Motel. Go around the corner, it’s about two blocks."

The signing man flashed a short, confused grin, and his hands started moving again. She kept her eyes on them as much as the tall man did, and he suddenly froze in the middle of _Would you mind --_ , dropped his chin, and caught her eye. She raised her eyebrows. His hands started moving again, and the tall man translated, though he was sounding confused, now, instead of bored.

"You can understand me?"

"I, uh." She grimaced slightly. "A little. We -- the doctors -- thought sign language might be a good . . . a good alternative. If Lucas. . . ." She couldn't finish, but it didn't matter, because the man was nodding, jerking his thumb towards his chest, extending his index and middle fingers on both hands and tapping them together, then drawing his right pinky to his lips. _My name is_ and then finger spelling _D-E-A-N_. The tall man kept silent for the moment, and she could feel his eyes on her face, but she kept her own glued on the signing man's -- on Dean's -- hands.

"Nice to meet you, Dean."

She was rewarded with a broad, bright smile. A ladykiller sort of grin.

And she wanted to kick herself when she gave him something approaching a real smile in return.

* * *

 _"Aunt Carrie! Can I go over to Jeremy's house?"_

 _Carrie's head snapped up from her paper-grading, and she stared at her nine year old son. "What did you say?"_

 _Sam met her gaze firmly. "I asked if I could go to Jeremy's house."_

 _"But you -- you called me --"_

 _"Aunt Carrie."_

 _That was Dean's name for her. Sam had always called her "Mom". She swallowed a wince and plastered a smile on her face and nodded. "Just so long as you're back by dinner."_

 _Sam smiled brightly back and ran up to hug her. "Thanks, Aunt Carrie! You're the best." And he was out the door, leaving her alone. Dan was in class and Dean was staying after-school for baseball. Neither of them would be home any time soon._

 _That was good. She didn't want either of them to catch her crying._

* * *

The men -- Sam and Dean, she knew now -- showed up on the playground later that day, while Lucas was scribbling away with his crayons at a bench maybe ten feet away, and she couldn't stop herself from tensing. "Can we join you?" Sam asked, and she had to stuggle to keep her tone civil.

"I'm here with my son."

Dean looked out over the playground towards Lucas and nodded, then started signing. Sam started to translate, but cut himself off halfway through. Andrea decided that, if Lucas had to use sign language himself, she was going to make sure he got a better interpreter than Sam.

"Do you mind if -- Dean, how the hell are you going to talk to him?"

Dean shot him a hard glare, his signs becoming slightly jerky with the force he was putting behind them. Apparently this wasn't directed to Andrea, since Sam didn't bother to translate, just stepped in and lowered his voice, blocking her sight line of Dean's hands with his body.

Yeah, no way in hell was she letting them near Lucas like this.

"Hey."

Sam stepped back a little guiltily, folding his hands behind his back and looking at the ground for a moment before looking back up at her. "He wants to know if Lucas can, uh. Read."

Andrea sighed. "He's learned. But he doesn't pay any attention. The doctors said it was some kind of post-traumatic stress." Sam's head jerked slightly in Dean's direction, but Dean's expression remained calm. He nodded to her, then angled his body to the side, gestured back towards Lucas, and raised his eyebrows questioningly. She closed her eyes and nodded. "Just stay where I can see you. Both of you." He nodded again and set off, smacking Sam in the chest with one arm when he tried to follow. Sam grimaced, muttered "Jerk" under his breath, then turned back to Andrea.

"You're a crappy interpreter, you know that?" Andrea said, before she could stop herself. Sam laughed softly and nodded.

"Yeah. I'm . . . not really used to doing it like this."

"New on the job?"

"You could say that. It's, uh. My first gig." He shrugged, and flashed her a small smile, and she felt herself warm to him a little. He reached up to rub the back of his neck. "It's not Dean, though. I've been . . . interpreting . . . for him all my life. He's my brother."

That right there, she decided, explained a whole lot. "But you're new to Fish and Wildlife."

"Brand new. Just, uh. Out of training."

"And you ended up on the missing persons/lake monster case. Wow, some guys get all the luck."

Sam laughed. "Well. Dean's been doing this a lot longer."

She nodded and turned her eyes towards the man in question, who was crouched down across from her son and scribbling away on his own piece of paper. "You really think -- you think he might get through to Lucas?"

Sam shrugged. "Don't know. I've never really seen him try talking to kids, before."

"No offense, but. I'm kind of hoping he doesn't." She caught the whip of Sam's head to the side in the corner of her vision, felt his eyes fix on her face even as she kept her own fixed on Lucas. "PTSD, right? I don't -- I don't want Lucas to think it's okay. Not to talk. I want my little boy back."

She heard a soft rush of air from Sam's direction, and for a long moment, that was the only sound between them.

"That's not it. Not Dean's deal."

"You flinched. When I mentioned it."

"It's a long story."

She sighed. She didn't need to know the story of these men's lives. They were here about the lake, and after what had happened to Chris, she had no intention of letting herself or Lucas anywhere near that lake again, not until it was dry as a bone. Lucas was just some . . . charity detour on their route.

Dean was headed back towards them, his head bent down, his hands in his pockets. He looked . . . dejected.

"Got tired of being ignored, huh?" She said softly. He looked up, gave her a fraction of the beaming smile she'd seen in her dad's office, and shrugged.

"Don't worry," Sam translated. "Kid's are strong. You'd be surprised what they can deal with."

She swallowed. "You know, he used to have such life. He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish. . . ." _I wish I had my little boy back._

Then Lucas was there, a picture clenched in his hands, and he was looking up at Dean the way he hadn't looked at anyone since that day on the lake, and Andrea felt a thrill of combined elation and terror. Lucas was responding. But she hoped to hell he wasn't learning to be just like Dean.

* * *

 _Carrie was half-asleep on the couch, the phone still clenched in her hand, when Dean came through the door. Staggered through it, to be more accurate. She sat up sharply and couldn't control her first reaction upon seeing him._

 _"Where the hell have you been?"_

 _He met her gaze with a blank one of his own, an expression she hadn't seen on his face since he was ten years old and finally pulled as far out of the shell his parents' death had trapped him in as he was going to get. His shoulders were hunched, his shirt bulging slightly near the right side of his neck, and he was holding his left arm very close to his chest. He looked exhausted. She pushed herself up off the couch and let her second reaction take over, rushing forward to gather him into her arms. "Baby. Are you okay?"_

 _He let out an abbreviated howl when her hands touched his back -- she could feel something under his shirt, something that felt like_ bandages _\-- and she pulled back. "You're not. Oh Dean, baby, what did you get yourself into?"_

 _He shook his head, his right hand coming up and fluttering meaninglessly for a few moments before dropping. He was dead on his feet, but she forced herself to be firm. "Don't think we're not going to talk about this, young man. We've kept your last name, we've let you call us 'aunt' and 'uncle', but we still raised you. You still need to tell us where you're going. You still can't just -- just_ leave _like that, for two months!"_

 _His hand came up again, employing the shorthand version of ASL that let him keep his left arm immobile against his chest._ Had some things to do. __

 _"What things, Dean? What's more important than -- than us? Than your brother? Than_ school? _"_

 _The blank look was back, covering over the exhaustion, and his hand flickered._ Don't need school. __

 _"Like hell --"_

 __Don't need school. Already know what I'm going to do. __

 _"I don't care if you want to be a mechanic, Dean. I don't care if you've decided you want to panhandle on the streets, you live in this house, and you're getting your diploma."_

 _He nodded, looked down, then met her eyes again._ I'm tired. Can I go to bed? __

 _"We're talking about this in the morning."_

 _He nodded again and trudged towards the stairs._

 _They didn't talk about it in the morning. Dan said the same things she did. Sam said the same things she did. All three of them begged and demanded and coaxed, but Dean refused to talk about where he'd been and what he'd been doing, how he'd gotten the scratches from his shoulder to his hip and the broken arm._

 _Three months later, he handed her a certificate stating that he'd earned his GED with flying colors, and she didn't care that he and Sam and Dan were all home. She still found a place alone to cry._

* * *

Andrea crouched on the end of the dock, unable to stop shuddering, unable to stop clutching at her son. Lucas was still in her arms, soaking wet, but he was breathing. He was breathing, and he was there, and she'd nearly lost him for real. Like she'd just lost her dad. Her dad who was a murderer, being chased by a ghost. . . .

But Lucas was there and he was solid and he was _breathing_ and she decided she didn't care. She didn't care if he never spoke another word, just so long as he stayed there, stayed with _her_. He could grow up like Dean. He could be just like Dean, sign language, leather jacket, and all, if he only just stayed with her.

She turned her head, pressing her cheek to the top of Lucas's head, and looked to where Dean was crouched over Sam, making soft, animal noises and signing furiously with shaking hands. Sam wasn't translating -- he was too busy coughing water onto the dock, but she understood well enough.

 _First time out. First time out and you nearly DROWN._

She couldn't help it, she started laughing. Dean's head whipped up with another of those hurt grunts, and he stared at her and she shook her head.

"He said he was new to the job. I thought -- I thought he meant Fish and Wildlife."

Dean relaxed slightly and shook his head.

"I can't believe this is what you do. You save people. Like Lucas." _But not like my dad._

Dean nodded, and Sam groaned.

"Yeah," he said, once he'd cleared all the water from his lungs. "Yeah, I couldn't really believe it at first, either."

And then Lucas was squirming in her grip and she turned her head back to him. "Lucas, no, it's okay, we're okay, Lucas, just don't --" He struggled harder, loosening her grip, one of his hands reaching for Dean. Dean grabbed it, held on firmly, nodding hurriedly, his meaning clear even without signs.

 _Listen to your mom. It's okay._

Lucas was shaking hard, gasping for breath. "Thank you," he said.

They all stared.

It'd been quiet. So very, very quiet, but it had been out loud. He'd _spoken_.

He couldn't get any other words out; Andrea was gripping him too hard. Her little boy had come back to her.

* * *

 _Sam graduated at the top of his class, had a full ride to Stanford to look forward to, awards in every subject, and four soccer trophies to his name, when he turned 18. Dean had started working full time at Mike's garage once he'd brought home his GED, got a job working at a local classic car specialty shop not long after his 18th birthday, and started traveling around, spending less and less time at home._

 _The day after Sam's graduation ceremony, Dean approached Carrie and Dan at the breakfast table and set a letter down between them. It said that his request to be transferred to the Palo Alto branch of the company that owned his classic car shop had been approved. Carrie took one look at it, then turned her gaze to Dean._

 _She said as much to him, these days, as he was willing to say back: not much at all. She could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't asking them. He was telling._

 _He was 22 years old. She and her husband had been his legal guardians for twelve of those years. But she knew now that, unlike his brother, Dean had never been_ hers _._

 _The day they left, she pulled him into her arms, refusing to let him brush her off. She pulled his head down to her shoulder and kissed his cheek._

 _"I hope you find what you're looking for, Dean. I really do. You'll always have a place, here."_

 _He nodded against her, and when he pulled back, she let him. His hands came up._ Mom loved you. __

 _She thought of the four year old boy whom she'd rocked to sleep every night after the fire. She thought of the ten year old boy who seemed to relearn to smile again just for her and Dan and Sam. She thought of the seventeen year old boy who'd looked at her with such blank eyes, but even though he didn't think he had time for it, got his diploma in his own way, just for her. And she decided that those words were his way of telling her that he loved her, too._

* * *

"So, Lucas. What do you think Sam and Dean want for lunch?"

Lucas looked up at her from where he was poised at her hip next to the refrigerator. "Sandwiches."

"Sandwiches." She nodded, tearing up all over again just at the sound of his voice. "Sandwiches are good."

"Can I make them?"

"Yeah." She crouched down to his level, pulling him firmly into her arms, reveling in the feel of his hands clutching her back. "Yeah, I think that's a great idea."


End file.
